Triad
by Neleothesze
Summary: Some heroes need more than simple hirelings to succeed in their endeavors. Sometimes, in times of great evil, there is a company of great men. To do the impossible and stop Alduin's rise, Fate ties together three living legends. (Hircine's Champion Nerevarine Dragonborn)
1. Chapter 1

**Triad**

**Chapter 1**: **On the Block**

**Disclaimer**: Morrowind, Oblivion and Skyrim are the property of their owners and I make no money from this. These particular champions are my own variants. If the characters appeal to you and you'd like to use them in your own works, let me know beforehand.

Some minor things may be changed from the game. Since the story will have multiple protagonists, it's only fair to change the scale of the opposition as well.

* * *

-i-i-i-i-

It was a blustery autumn day in Helgen. Hadvar could smell a storm on the wind and he wasn't sure this one brought rain. The portents had come, like messengers of the End Times, in waves. The first harbingers had been a party of Dunmer coming - unlike most refugees - by way of Bruma.

The tallest one, a wizard of some sort, stood confident in the middle of his party, casually ordering three servants on matters of luggage, horse and carriage care. His heavy armor, ebony of some sort, reeked of foreign magics and his jewelry spoke of both magical defense and great wealth. Two others flanked him, guards or companions as it appeared.

The Legion captain, xenophobic witch that she was, had tried to have them arrested for some thing or other, when the unusually tall Dunmer, one Theryn Maryon of House Telvanni, had carelessly shifted aside his cloak, revealing deadly-looking blades covered in otherworldly flames while ostensibly reaching for his papers. He then calmly explained that he was on a diplomatic mission to Solitude and not to be stopped by lowly guards.

Her bluff called, the captain had to suck up her pride, apologize and offer lodgings. In short order, quarters and refreshments were provided for the six elves. In the following hours, all of Helgen was abuzz with excitement, speculating on the identity of the mage and the scope of his mission.

The second herald had been a lone Bosmer hunter. There was a feral gleam in his eye, of a predator barely contained. Merely speaking to him made Hadvar feel uneasy. The captain gave his a wide berth, resigning herself to terrorizing the newest recruits.

Seeing how none of the good people of Helgen wanted to house and feed the wild-looking Bosmer, Hadvar's kind nature won over his unease and he offered to let the elf share a meal with him in the barracks. He got a toothy grin and a slap on the back for his troubles, the elf confessing that he had much rather sleep outside the hold, and had only ventured close to the city to trade some of his game.

Anadhel was the name he offered after two mugs of mead, hunter and seeker of rare game. True to his word, the elf didn't stay long in Helgen, setting up camp some distance away from the walls. For two days the garrison ate excellent meat from the hunter's supply, though Hadvar could bet from the sour look on his captain's face that it hadn't come cheap.

The third messenger was a convoy of four rickety wagons full of Stormcloak soldiers, guarded better than a maiden's virtue. As the wagons rolled inside the hold, Hadvar was amazed to see the head of the rebels, Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, bound and gagged and escorted by a party headed by General Tullius himself. The dissidents were ushered into the courtyard where the executioner was called and a makeshift block constructed.

The gruesome entertainment that promised to follow brought the whole town to the square, even the elven visitors. The Dunmer wizard and his perpetually helmed companions stood silent to the side, while their servants whispered in the background. While none made a move to protest the barbaric display, disapproving frowns marred both the wizard and his servants' faces.

Anadhel was very nearly growling, pacing the length of a house's porch and Hadvar was almost ashamed at the behavior of his superiors. This wasn't the Legion he had joined, one that executed people without a trial, one that coldly murdered people that had surrendered.

Mustering his courage and failing trust in the Legion, Hadvar stepped forward to do the name call. Lokir, Fjori... Sten... Rolf, Valund... Ralof he knew some of these men, had grown up with others. He could feel his heart plummet. The damned war was hitting too close to home. His musings were interrupted when a young Altmer stepped down from the wagon and addressed him.

'There must be some sort of mistake. I was merely trading with these Nords for a rested horse. I am a scholar, not a warrior' she added 'and I have no hand or interest in whatever conflict you have with these people.'

Hadvar's already low mood sank even deeper. From her looks and bearing, it was obvious that the elf spoke the truth and just as obvious that his bloodthirsty captain wouldn't release a captive without mountains of proof, of which she had none.

Grasping at straws, Hadvar tried to stall for time.

'I am Hadvar, what is your name? Are you with the Thalmor Embassy?'

'I am Vaelali and, as I've said before, a scholar of Dwemer studies and unassociated with the... Thalmor.' she finished, wrinkling her nose at the word.

The captain, almost stupidly eager to prove herself to General Tullius, loudly interrupted.

'It doesn't matter who she is. She was found in a Stormcloak camp, she goes to the block!'

At this thoughtless proclamation, Hadvar could see the elves bristling. Anadhel was shouting something from his spot next to the gates and wizard Maryon's hand was twitching near his wicked-looking blades. As their master had made no move to stop them, his servants' comments could be heard over the crowd.

'The nerve of tha' s'wit! Offin' an elf on account of changin' a horse.'

'Jes' what you'd expect from a human!'

'Barbarians, the lot o' them!'

'Stupid too. What would a haughty lookin' Altmer lass like tha' want with those filthy men? Even I wouldn'a give them the time a day!'

Vaelali on the other hand had been rendered speechless. When she was bound and put on the wagon she was expecting a stern talking to, a fine, perhaps even a night in jail for trading with dissidents. The death penalty was so outside the realm of possibility that it defied understanding. She stared dumbly around herself, absently noting that even the dirty rebels looked outraged to see that she was being dragged in front of the executioner.

Her last thought as they pushed her head on the block was that Auri-El himself must have come to put an end to this travesty of justice, as she could swear a dragon was looking her in the eyes.

-i-i-i-i-

next up - **Chapter 2: Elven Affairs and an Agreement**


	2. Chapter 2

**previously**:

"Her last thought as they pushed her head on the block was that Auri-El himself must have come to put an end to this travesty of justice, as she could swear a dragon was looking her in the eyes."

**Chapter 2: Elven Affairs and an Agreement**

Vaelali's memory of the escape was incredible... almost absurd.

Between avoiding the dragon's deadly flames and running from the crazed soldiers, she had managed to enter the keep. There, a group of Dunmer had ushered her into the dungeons where a bloody battle broke out. She had tried to hide, but it had been for naught and after having been slashed open by more than one vicious legionnaire or bloodthirsty rebel, her healing magicks eventually stopped answering her call.

It was then that her memories became bizarre as if she had traveled to some defiled, distorted version of reality. She could see in her mind's eye people morphing into ripped, oddly-splayed bodies, an small elf shifting into a terrible, snarling monster, caverns of huge, foul-smelling spiders, people aflame, writhing and screaming and finally... beautiful, soothing light.

-i-i-i-i

With gentle steps, Theryn and his servant Varis guided the injured Altmer to a mossy log. The girl was clearly in shock and Theryn knew that, unless spoken to, she would gain little experience from the ordeal, believing the day's events to have been isolated incident. In a country at war, such naivete would not serve her well.

Taking care not to jostle her, the wizard then set to healing the girl's broken leg. As he worked on setting the bone and closing the deep wound, Theryn spoke in a deep, raspy voice.

'It is surprising to have reached your age and been quite so sheltered from the hardships of life. I myself was disgusted to see the mockery of your trial, but not surprised.

The ichor of corruption that spewed in Helgen festers inside all societies. You would do well to arm yourself against it by becoming stronger than the corrupted who hold some claim of authority. As long as your own skills cannot grant you justice, you must believe that no one else will either.

In front of the Imperials, you awaited a miracle instead of making your own miracle. No one will be your bulwark, young Altmer. You must become a grand wall unto yourself, stones of mental and physical prowess enmeshed so as to create an impenetrable shield.

But perhaps I am being too harsh. ...Have faith, today you have proven to be an almost competent caster. I distinctly recall seeing you heal your wounded arm back in the keep... and there it is now, smooth, unblemished skin. Very good.

Now tell me, what is your repertoire of spells?'

Theryn's soft-spoken query went unanswered. When he raised his gaze to hers, he found Vaelali frowning in Anadhel's direction.

'What manner of beast hides under that mer's skin? Though my memory is still hazy, I remember a blood-spattered monster, as tall as a troll and just as strong, jumping on the man that had pinned me to the floor, ripping the great sword from my thigh and... ...the man's arm with it...' Vaelali asked with a shudder.

With a wry smile, Theryn turned back to his task.

'A monster? Such cruel words. I think he is undeserving of your scorn. Who was more of a monster? The man who attacked you without provocation or the beast that saved you without being asked to.. or thanked yet, for that matter. But to answer your question, he is most probably a lycanthrope, a werewolf. You've read about them, I assume?'

Struggling to recall old words, the girl muttered 'Yes, yes I have... in passing... but I've never expected...' Vaelali stopped, catching herself before she could utter something harsh. Her Dunmer companion was right. Though the Bosmer's actions had been beastly and the sight of them had nearly made her retch, the mer had obviously been in control of himself and had knowingly saved her life. She owed him him a debt and most sincere thanks.

For his part, Anadhel was cursing himself for acting so rashly. He could have taken a few more seconds to aim a deadly arrow instead of exposing his secret to all and sundry, but the sight of the girl's pathetic defense had ignited a familiar fury.

It had always been his belief that the worth of a predator was given by the worth of his prey, and there was no worth in killing a lame calf. Besides, his elven side - already enraged by the Legion's outrageous display in the Helgen courtyard - protested at the sight of an elf helpless at the hands of a filthy human.

Caught up in recriminations and excuses, Anadhel almost missed Vaelali's approach.

'Bosmer.' Vaelali said, to catch his attention. 'I believe it was you who saved me from dying at the hands of that soldier, back inside the keep.'

Believing to have already lost the acceptance of his new companions, Anadhel decided draw things out - enough to pack what was left of his belongings -, before being cast out of their midst.

'Oh, saw my face, did you?'

Pursing her lips, Vaelali answered stiffly. 'I saw a face. Though bloody and gory and positively ghastly, I presume it was yours. I must say this one becomes you much better.'

Anadhel couldn't restrain the laugh that came unbidden at her reply. For a gentle-bred Altmer, this was glowing commendation; and if the girl was still so open towards him, perhaps there was hope that their little party had not yet come undone.

'I'll keep your thanks, girl, if you keep the secret. Now kindly ask the wizard if he can accommodate us with some scorched earth. If we're to camp here I'll need to set up some protections.'

-i-i-i-i

Later that evening, as they sat round the fire and partook of the Bosmer's perfectly roasted venison, the six elves shared stories.

Theryn Maryon, previously a lowly Telvanni Retainer, had been caught practicing necromancy in Cyrodiil and hauled back to Morrowind as a prisoner. His run-in with Imperial law had, surprisingly, put him in touch with the Imperial secret intelligence force. Through them he had learnt of a prophecy involving himself and the mad immortal Dagoth Ur.

Having believed his life to be forfeit once he set foot on the path of prophecy, for nearly a decade Theryn had instead chosen to immerse himself in House Telvanni politics. Using cunning and a growing magical prowess he had bribed, shoved and clawed his way to the position of Master when disaster struck.

On what should have been a routine delivery to Molag Mar, he had been ambushed by a pair of corprus stalkers and infected with Corprus. Desperate, he had called upon all his Telvanni and Imperial contacts and through them had been able to arrange a meeting with the venerable Divayth Fyr, an ancient wizard who had studied the incurable disease extensively.

The wizard's words died off when it came to tell of the encounter. Staring into the flames he instead told the story of his rise as Nerevarine. Amidst jokes and anecdotes, Vaelali and Anadhel could gleam that he had been hounded for almost two years by the Temple Ordinators before the Temple leader, the living-god Vivec, was forced to admit his status as Nerevarine;

When it came to the fight with Dagoth Ur, from his words and tone Vaelali could tell that the wizard still held a great deal of respect for his fallen adversary, and - as it would become obvious in the hours to come - a lot more than he had for the members of the Dunmer Tribunal.

Varis and Eno Andrano, the oldest of wizard Maryon's servants, had a tale much like her own. Raised by commoners, they had attached themselves to Master Maryon in an attempt to rise above their condition. In return for their services, Theryn had taught them to read, write and cast simple spells. Nearly three centuries later, both were a skilled soldiers with a good grasp on Alteration and Restorative magicks.

Dranas Indaren, Maryon's youngest servant, was a former bandit. Caught by Maryon when he was trying to steal one of the wizard's priceless Dwemer vases, he was given the choice between servitude or death. Two centuries later, he served Maryon with pride, having bettered himself both as a warrior and as a mage.

The Bosmer werewolf Anadhel was a born hunter. In his almost three centuries of life, he had tracked game from Valenwood to Hammerfell and east to Morrowind. He had bested trolls, ogres and mynotaurs, netches and kagouti, grizzly bears and giant scorpions.

Two centuries ago he had, by chance, ended up on the isle of Solstheim where he had helped form a colony, aided the ancient Nords of the isle and taken part in the sport organised by the Huntsman of the Princes, the Daedric Prince Hircine where he had been gifted with lycanthropy. A solitary mer by trade as well as inclination, the affliction had not changed his life for the worse.

Listening to their tales, Vaelali was in awe. Her studies into Dwemer steam-driven systems felt like child's play when compared to the deeds of the two heroes. However, she was humbled, not shamed and with their presence she felt an opportunity arise.

The wizard had been right. She currently had no skills with which to defend herself, but here were two heroes who were masters at their craft. If she could interest them in an alliance, tempt them with the mystery of the Helgen dragon, her own skills would inevitably develop much faster than if she was to travel alone.

'Theryn Maryon, Anadhel... If there is the potential for greatness in everybody, with presence of this dragon and the fight between these Nords, I foresee a chance to better myself not only as a scholar, but also as a wizard.

You asked me earlier, Master Maryon, about my repertoire of spells. I confess to knowing little more than a healing spell and the calling of flames. If you would allow me to travel with you, either or both of you, I'm sure I could learn my craft better than by studying in a library.

I admit to having more to gain from this than you,' she added with an earnest look 'but surely you'd be interested in investigating this distressing sighting anyway. The presence of a real dragon is a monumental event and the Nords and the Imperials are... incompetent at best.' she said, trying to hide the hitch in her voice. As an Altmer raised in Cyrodiil, she hadn't held with the Thalmor propaganda, but the callousness and cruelty of the Imperial Legion in Helgen had left a bitter taste.

'Your experiences more than qualify you to deal with whatever this crisis entails. And the more experience I gain ,the more valuable I will be in any of your enterprises.' she cajoled.

Stroking his chin, Theryn regarded Anadhel with a small smile. An unspoken message passed between the two mer and both noded, their faces betraying some of their satisfaction.

For Theryn, it was a chance to redeem himself for being in Akavir when tragedy struck his people. For Anadhel, it was a chance to hunt the greatest predator of all. For both it was a second chance at being the best in matters involving something legendary.


End file.
